I slam my office door hard enough to rattle the frame. My hands are shaking—not with fear, never with fear. It’s something far more dangerous coursing through me, something that needs blood and violence to settle.
That girl. Thatfuckin’girl.
That beautiful, exhausting, infuriating fuckingwoman.
I stalk down the back corridor, and my crew melts out of my way like they can smell what’s coming off me. Good lads. They know better than to get in my path when I’m like this.
The bass thrums through the walls, but it’s not enough—not enough to burn off whatever the fuck burns inside me. My skin feels too tight, my blood too hot.
“Sir, do you need anything?” one of the bouncers asks, but I shake my head.
Need anything? Like fuck, I need something.
Her.
But I can’t have her, not yet.
I need the ring.
The thought comes to me so quickly, so naturally, it surprises me. But not now. Ican’t. I haven’t been in a ring since before my time in prison.
I shove through the doors into the main club. The crowd’s thick tonight, bodies pressed together, the air hazy with smoke and sweat and spilled drink. But it’s beautiful, and it’s mine. I love it here. It’s my second home.
My feet carry me with purpose, straight toward the exit that takes me to my car so I can pay thefuckingtribute. Not only do I hate being strung by the bollocks, but I could still behere,still have more time with Erin. I owe her a punishment for coming here, and goddamn it, I’machingto fuckin’ administer it.
But here we go again. The goddamn monthly tribute, and I’m not even one step closer to discovering who demands it.
I get to my car, my hand on the door handle, then pause. A prickle of awareness skates across my neck.
Something’s out of place. Something’s wrong…
Is this where I parked?
I frown, pulling out my phone. “Declan,” I say when he answers. “Check the security footage, will ye? I know where I parked my car, and it looks like it’s been moved.”
“It’s been moved?” he says. “Jaysus.”
I gesture to a valet who’s nearby.
“Here, I want you to take my car, pull it up to the front,” I tell him, handing over the keys. “I want to go through security footage first.”
“Yes, sir.”
I go back to the phone and head to the entrance of the club. “What do you see on the footage?”
“Nothing,” Declan says. “It’s too dark. What the hell? It looks as if?—”
BOOM!
I fall to the ground on instinct as glass splinters. The car goes up in flames.
“Christ!” I gasp, staring at the inferno.
Someone bombed my goddamn car.
The door to the club flies open, and Declan runs toward me, his face pale in the orange glow of the flames.
“The valet—” I start, but I can already see him. Or what’s left of him. He was at the other end of the lot, standing by my car when it went up. He’s fucking toast now—dead. Burned to a crisp.
